I love New York, but I don’t want a New York kind of love.
New York City
And yet, New York, I love you. And I don’t mean that in the colloquial way, but in that ridiculous all-consuming inconvenient can’t live without you kind of way.
After spending much of my life off and on New York’s mean streets, I’ve decided to break up with New York.
I understand everyone feels lonely and has needs. Some are just better at controlling themselves than others.
Security for Melania & Barron for the past six months has cost New York City somewhere around $20 million.
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In fifth grade, I found out that we were officially moving to Long Island. Part of me eagerly anticipated living in a house with a staircase and a grassy backyard. Yet, I was also overcome with worry about leaving the only place I’ve known. I was 10 years-old when I was diagnosed with chronic heartburn due to stress.
It’s like your hand getting stuck in the subway door when you think you have enough time to save yourself but you’re just too late.
We’re all young, not ready to be tied down and the unicorn in this myth is that everyone will find someone else at closing time because we don’t have to go home but we can’t stay here. You get it, I get it, everyone on my Twitter feed gets it; we’re all sick of being alone.
If you’re anything like me, work will become too much. You’ll leave the restaurant at 2 am. You’ll come back at 9 am. You won’t be able to go to auditions. You won’t be making as much money. You won’t be happy.